Mass Effect: A Galaxy Divided
by Ballad1
Summary: Joran Vydros, an Ex-Turian Legionnaire and former mercenary, becomes a candidate for the Spectres after being blackmailed by his family. At first he believes the Spectres to be nothing but corrupt; however, he later discovers being a Spectre to mean much more. After becoming Captain of the PFS Serpentine, he, alongside other comrades, discover a plot that will see a galaxy divided.
1. Chapter I - Reignite

Story Line Writer: B. H.

Narrative Perspective Writer: H. B.

I do not own the Mass Effect universe and all credit for its associated contents go to Bioware. This fan-fiction is for enjoyment not for economic gain. I would dearly appreciate any feedback, reviews, or ratings. These chapters are subject to editing so nothing is set in stone until the last chapter is uploaded.

2184CE

Chapter I: Reignite

I cannot remember the last time I have felt true happiness; euphoria; the feeling of an untroubled mind. Since I left Invictus five years ago, I have made my way across the galaxy first selling my gun to the Blue Suns, then to whoever paid me most, and now I am a candidate for the Spectres. It is rather odd. How does a selfish mercenary, morals based off his patron's desires, come to achieve the most selfless, daring, and prestigious position in Council Space? That is a question I am still trying to figure out. What made me go save them? Was it the money I was promised to be paid or did something seep out from a dark corner of my heart that was once securely locked? Each time I ask myself that question, I look to the tattoo etched on my forearm. "Legio XXI: Courage grows strong at a wound". The legion I served with in the Turian military and its motto. I looked at it too when I rushed into that base, outnumbered and wounded. Despite that moment, I do not feel that same inspiration I felt back then as I look at the markings now. Regardless, it both beckons my curiosity and scares me. What happened to the Turian that only did things for himself? What happened to the payment I was promised? That was when I saw Galeria, my sister, step into my hospital room.

"Feeling better?"

I look away from her and out the window, gazing upon the trashy Invictus skies.

"After being away so long, you still won't speak to your own sister?"

"I have nothing to say,"

Galeria glares at me, a fire brimming in her eyes.

"There is plenty for you to say,"

"Fine. Nothing that I want to say,"

"To anyone or just to me?"

I do not answer her; I keep thinking about that time when I left without a word.

"Joran, you know that I wanted what was best for you,"

I turn my head away from the window, a scowl coming upon my face.

"You lie to me, bring me back to the one place I absolutely despise, and then try to force me to conform to yet another ideal? Are you certain you had my best interest in mind or just father's?"

"Joran, I had to lie, how else was I supposed to get you to meet with me? If I showed my face, you would've been out the door and gone for another five years! It was difficult even with my connections in the Cabal to find you!"

"It never occurred to you that I may have hid myself so well on purpose? If a person goes to such an extent to hide themselves, they probably don't want to be found,"

Do you realize how much pain you have put mother through since you left? Father is gone and so is Sectus! All she has is me at home and the fact that her last son is off fighting with lowlifes out in the Terminus Systems!"

"Firstly, Galeria, get your facts straight. The bitch is only in pain because her prestigious husband and ass of a firstborn are dead. Secondly, she did not give a damn about me. You should know that from personal observation,"

Galeria cups her hands around her eyes and presses firmly, she usually did that when she was absolutely upset with me.

"Do you not think that our parents treated you that way because they wanted you to do something with your life?"

I glared at her and with the emotion retracting in her face, she knew she struck a nerve.

"They wanted me to do something with my life? So father beat me, called me trash, paid me no mind, and forced me into the military because he wanted me to do something with MY LIFE? Mother ignored me because she wanted me to do something with MY LIFE? Sectus was permitted to be beat me and treat me like shit because I was not as skilled as he; because our parents wanted him to toughen me up, so I would do something with MY LIFE?"

The room fell silent for a moment before Galeria spoke up once more.

"That's not what I meant,"

"Obviously it was. You've been thinking about it for quite some time. I could never live up to being a Vydros because what I defined as a life was not the definition of theirs,"

A hiss from the door summoned yet another Turian, dressed in refined attire.

"Lieutenant Vydros, I presume,"

My eyes instantly narrow at the accent in his voice, Palaven underlining his every word.

"Not a Lieutenant anymore. I left the military, remember?"

"Joran!" Galeria exclaims, her eyes widening.

"It is quite alright, Sargent. It would appear that he is the epitome of your description,"

"He is a little rough around the edges, Primarch Fedorian, but I assure you he is the one for the job,"

The grizzled Turian looks over me, analyzing me with his piercing, presumptuous eyes.

"It's hard to believe that this merc was the one to, not only save our men, but also take down Octana Revne,"

"He did it, sir, I have the entire thing recorded,"

"I know, I saw the footage. Joran, I presume you know why I am here?"

"My sister informed me. You want to enslave me," I spat.

"Joran!" Galeria barks again but is yet again silence by the Primarch.

"Not so much as enslave but rather recruit,"

"You want me to undergo Spectre evaluations,"

"Precisely, your operation a couple days ago legitimizes your sister's recommendations,"

"How exactly did my sister manage to get you of all people, the Primarch of Palaven, to approve of my Spectre recommendation?"

The Primarch steps toward the window and stares above the city, "A couple years back, I had a personal classified mission I needed someone to undertake, Galeria was the only one to accept it. Your recommendation into the Spectres was a repayment for that favor,"

A dark, rage formed at the pit of my stomach as I turned my attention to Galeria, she avoiding eye contact.

"So do you accept?" the Primarch asks, still gazing upon Invictus.

"No, I don't," I say, pulling my injured self out of the bed.

Galeria rushed to me as I collapse on the ground. I swat her hands away.

"Get away from me!"

The Primarch looks to Galeria with cynicism in his eyes then to my weak self on the floor.

"Well, that is unfortunate," he says as opens his Omni-Tool.

In that moment, two Turian soldiers enter and pull me up from the ground.

"Joran Vydros, you are under arrest for terrorist actions against the Turian Hierarchy," one of the soldiers announces.

"Terrorism? That is a lie!" I exclaim.

"Well, Joran, you were operating with the Blue Suns and, quite frankly, they have taken hostile actions towards the populace of Invictus. We have proof of your association with them during their raid on the Hurin Banking Initiative based in Shastinasio," the Primarch replies, pulling footage up on his Omni-Tool.

"That's fabricated! I was never on the economic front, my job was military!"

"Oh, well, doesn't change the fact that you admitted to associating yourself with the Blue Suns, the Primarch of Invictus would be overjoyed to know that there is one less Sun causing havoc on his home world. I mean, even if the footage is fabricated, no one will believe a heartless mercenary like yourself. It is unfortunate that you did not accept my offer. If you had, your offenses could've been forgiven. Take him away,"

The soldiers' grip tightens as the begin to pull me out of the hospital room. Galeria looks at me with disappointment before turning her head away.

"Okay! Okay! I accept the recommendation!"

"Hold it, gentlemen," the Primarch orders, "I apologize Joran, I do not believe I heard you correctly,"

I shake my head with anger and shattered pride, "I said, I accept the Spectre recommendation,"

The Primarch nods approvingly to Galeria, "Very good, a ship will be waiting to take you to the Citadel upon your discharge from the hospital,"

The soldiers take me and place me back in my bed, a grimace present upon my face.

"Now, I have spent too much time here on Invictus so I must return to Palaven,"

"Of course, Primarch, thank you very much," Galeria says with a gracious nod.

"It was my pleasure, Galeria, but do consider us even," the Primarch looks to me blankly, "I do expect you to act in way that keeps our species in a good light,"

"Yeah, yeah,"

The Primarch walks to the door, "Further information will provided upon your discharge," and returns a hushed chuckle before it hisses closed.

"I'm glad you accepted, Joran,"

I say nothing back to her as I continue to shake my head at the Invictus skies.

Four days later

I step out from the hospital, my armor and equipment latched onto my body. My lungs feel as if corrosion is shriveling up every fiber, slowly taking my breath away from me. As I walk to a bench, waiting for my sister to pull up in her sky car, I see my past everywhere, a younger self parading around in a march of sadness. I sit at the curb, by myself, no friends, no family, just a child sitting amongst everyday strangers. He looks at the puddle of water that sits before him, staring at his reflection, wondering why he was born in a world that refused to understand him. The more I look at him, the more I forget about who I was back then. Nothing but pain comes to me the harder I try to think.

"Joran,"

I look past the dissipating mirage that was my younger self and see a metallic blue object shining in front of me.

"Are you sure the hospital let you leave?" Galeria asked, looking at me with worry in her eyes.

"I'm fine,"

I pick myself up from the bench and slide into the passenger seat. The sky car hovers for a moment before launching into an open space in traffic. I noticed that Galeria tried to slow her speed, trying to lengthen the time she had to converse with me. Unfortunately, for her, I kept my answers short and unattached. When I arrived at the entrance to the spaceport, I immediately leaped from the passenger seat and onto the concrete.

"Are you not even going to say goodbye!?" Galeria exclaimed, a hint of disappointment underlining her tone. "Not even a thank you!?"

I do not look back as I step into the building, rushing to my designated docking bay before Galeria could stall me yet again. People stare at me as I walk through the concourse, some with expressions of recognition and others of curiosity.

"Excuse me, are you Joran Vydros? That mercenary from the Dylex Incident?"

I turn to see a woman, about my age, body held in a subservient stance, gazing upon me with abyssal eyes.

"Yes,"

"I just wanted to thank you personally…for saving my husband…he was one of the legionnaires held captive by Tainau Atruyne,"

When the woman said that name, my mind flashed of fire and blood. A shiver of fear came over me as I began to remember my sudden change in heart.

"Where is your husband now?"

"He headed back out for service, I just saw him off a moment ago,"

The woman crept closer to me, a scowl seeping onto my countenance as my personal space began to shrink.

"Could I trouble you to record a message for my husband? Anything will be fine. It would really mean a lot to him,"

I analyze this woman, my suspicious habit kicking into action. Several questions raced through my mind, as my curiosity was peaked at her intentions.

"I suppose," I reply with a sigh.

The avian woman happily unlocks her Omni-Tool, waiting for my "inspiring" response.

"What's your husband's name?"

"Severus,"

"This is Joran Vydros. I'm glad you've recovered, Severus. I'm here with your wife at Invictus Space Port B. She caught my attention and wanted me to say a few things for you," I paused for a moment, looking to the woman whose smile was filled with pure joy. I should have said something positive to him but it just was not in my nature. "The military is Hell, Severus, and it will drain on you like an Invictusian Leech. You should know that by now, you come from the twenty-first legion. My old legion. Forget that distraction. Your purpose is to serve your comrades. You got a second chance at life, so use it to assist your comrades in any way you can. In the military, there is no me, I, or you. It is us, we, and they. It is unlikely that you will leave your service unscarred, unchanged, uninjured, or alive, so get those thoughts out of your head. Do your job right and do it well and perhaps you will see your wife and home world again,"

I took myself away from the recording and looked at the woman, her pained expression obviously showed disappointment and malcontent. I did not care, she got what she wanted regardless of the way I chose to say it.

"Thank you, I guess…I have to go,"

I nod as I start my way to the designated docking bay. My equipment was checked, my identification verified, my quarters secured, and I was on my way to Citadel space.

The trip was dull, nothing but common chatter from Invictusian Turians all about changing their life once they reached the Citadel. Their words seep into my hearing like a serpent hissing the foulest of deceits. They do not know of the how the real galaxy works, only from what they have seen from Invictus' traditionalist ideology. Granted, any place, other than Tuchanka perhaps, is better than Invictus, the two things that these immigrants will learn are that injustice and corruption are as present on the Citadel as they are on Omega. The only difference between the two is that you at least know no one can be trusted on Omega, unlike the Citadel where they will smile, shake your hand, and then stab you in the back.

The ship finally docks with the Citadel and all its passengers gaze in awe at the bright, pure, structures that make up the installation. Although my mind leans to criticism, even I cannot help but feel something positive pulling within me. When I look out of the reinforced windows, and see all the Citadel has on offer and think about my new chapter as a Council Spectre, I feel like a burnt-out wick of a candle inside me began to reignite.


	2. Chapter II - Spectre Cooperative Tier

Story Line Writer: B. H.

Narrative Perspective Writer: H. B.

I do not own the Mass Effect universe and all credit for its associated contents go to Bioware. This fan-fiction is for enjoyment not for economic gain. I would dearly appreciate any feedback, reviews, or ratings. These chapters are subject to editing so nothing is set in stone until the last chapter has been uploaded.

Chapter II: The Spectre Cooperative Tier

I was given a certain address that would be my temporary place of residence until my Spectre evaluation was over. It was on the highest part of the Presidium, looking down on all those below me, some of higher social status than I. The house had blues, reds, whites, and greens that each complimented one another to inspire the feeling of being welcome. A stone path was set perfectly, leading to the mahogany door that barred me from the luxuries inside. When the lock clicked open, its door revealed room upon room of luxury, dripping with a disgusting overabundance of elegance. I spent most of my first day on the Citadel feeling uncomfortable in the living room, sitting on the couch, staring at a blank television screen. My physical person could not begin to comprehend the sudden jump in social class it had just experienced. It brought back memories of my time as a gun-for-hire, moving from place-to-place with only my armor, weapons, and credit chit to keep me company. I was nomadic, sometimes staying in a cheap motel for a night, if I was even that lucky, and then move on to the next contract. Cheap food was all I could afford to eat or risk, even for one moment, my guard lowering for the pleasure of taste. Now I sit in a house worth more credits than I have seen since I left Invictus, its kitchen stocked to the brim with all foods imaginable, and too many rooms for me to count. By the time I felt ready to explore the rest of the house, I was already settled to sleep for the evening. The following morning, I would set about my Spectre evaluation.

The hiss of the doors echoed about my ears when I stepped into the Spectre headquarters. It was a large establishment filled with different species and genders, all wearing monotonous black clothing. The ceiling was decorated with signs of departments, silver columns that would make the most miserly noble envious, and a cleanliness that seemed to shine brighter than the Serpent Nebula itself. If I had gotten the memo, perhaps I would have thought twice before wearing crimson armor. People stared at me as if I was some foreign animal in an enclosure at a zoo. I was prepared to catch any peanuts that may be thrown my way. Regardless of the judgement expressed by the eyes of the occupants, I made my way across the room to the receptionist at the information desk.

"Can I help you?" an Asari asked, looking away from her terminal for only a moment.

"Joran Vydros, here for Spectre evaluation,"

The moment I spoke my name, her attention seemed to throw the terminal away.

"So you are the new guy. Heard about what you did on Invictus, pretty amazing stuff,"

"Yep, so where do I need to go?"

"Another Spectre all about work. Disappointing. Tell me, were you guys trained to act that way or are you all just naturally unhappy and unsociable?"

"I wasn't training to become a Spectre, I was perfectly fine killing for my own betterment. Now, where do I need to wait?"

The Asari stares at me with an unnerved disposition before pointing me to the left side of the room.

"Very well," I say, removing myself from the desk.

I heard the Asari mutter something about her Gods before I left earshot.

Half an hour later

I gazed about the lobby, feeling almost nauseous at how sparkling clean and maintained the Citadel kept its facilities. To the naïve eye, one could think it impossible for the Citadel, close to a haven, to have its share of slums. On the Citadel, these people, at least the upper class, hold an 'out of sight, out of mind' type of personality. I have seen the slums of the Citadel and I can personally tell anyone who thinks otherwise that they exist. At times, they can be worse than the wards of Omega.

"Spectre Candidate Joran Vydros I presume?" a nasally voice questioned, throwing my attention off guard.

"Y-yes, Otarth Ix?" I reply, staring at the greyish Salarian standing before me.

"Correct. Now let us look at your record,"

The Salarian peered over a file glowing off his Omni-Tool.

"Fifteen years in the military as per Turian administrative standards, former Blue Sun Mercenary, private contractor, hero of the twenty-first legion, and now a Spectre candidate. Quite the résumé you have, Lieutenant,"

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, as per Primarch Fedorian's recommendation, it stated that you have reenlisted with the Turian military, is this information not true?"

"If the Primarch says I have, then I am," I say, obvious uneasiness expressed in my tone.

"Quite, now we will begin your evaluation as soon as the other candidate makes his status known,"

"I thought this was a one-on-one type of evaluation,"

"Usually it is, Lieutenant; however, you and this other candidate were registered with our new Spectre Cooperative Tier program, SCOT for short,"

"Spectre Cooperation Tier program?"

"Correct. It is a new program we instituted to help new Spectres adapt to their new duties. During evaluations, you will be paired with another Spectre candidate. At the end of the operation, your scores will be collected together. If both of your scores equal or surpass an adequate total, you both are initiated into the Spectres, if the score is below the total, you both are disqualified. Do not worry, you will only have to undergo a three-month cooperation period before you both are free to go your separate ways,"

"And why was I not informed about this?"

"Primarch Fedorian assured my department that you were aware of the requirements,"

I shake my head in obvious agitation, "I know now…my primary concern is the fact that my admission is going to depend on the skills of another,"

"Shut up, Turian. I'm not going to be the problem here," a deep, scratchy voice boomed, a large reptilian creature joining our newly formed trio.

"Ah, Urdnot Gnore, fifteen minutes late,"

"What does it matter? If your damn customs hadn't slowed me down, perhaps I would've been here sooner," the Krogan replied, obviously trying to cause tension.

I stared for a moment at this eight-foot-tall reptile with an eerie feeling of distrust. Something about his composure, the tone and sound of his voice, woke a familiar yet foreign aspect within me. I felt that, at any moment, he was ready to pull a weapon or a fist on us when we would least expect it. I have worked with Krogans before but this one was different, angrier, more ferocious. Call it xenophobia, paranoia, or an insecurity but something struck a chord of fear within me.

"So we doing this thing or what, Salarian?" the ferocious reptile questioned, crossing his arms.

"Very well, we shall begin. Follow me,"

Gnore caught my unsettled gaze and cringed as if he saw something sour, "What are you looking at?"

"Didn't think that a Krogan Spectre was possible," I reply, trying to hold my composure.

"Uh-huh, will be, even if the council doesn't want to formally announce it. Now hurry it up, I don't have all day,"

The Salarian took us to an area below the Spectre headquarters, filled with ominous hallways, computers, and doors. Each step I took filled me with more anxiety. I felt that, with one false step, I could be vaporized instantly by some security system or fall through a trap door leading to my permanent demise. Even the Krogan became more cautious, while not displaying it on his face, his lighter footsteps expressed his anxiety. Eventually, we were finally led to a single docking bay, empty of all personnel, save for a Keeper in the corner of the room, an Asari, and a Human. A large, shining, silver ship stuck to the docking arm, waiting for its next opportunity to heat its engines.

"This is the ship we will be using, to take us to your evaluation mission," the Salarian announced, stopping before the two humanoids.

"That piece of junk?" the Krogan questions, squinting at its outward machinery.

"Indeed, and these are its crew," the grey Spectre first pointed to the Asari, "Ranrika Lero, the ship's pilot," and "Alvin White, the ship's engineer,"

"Let's just get this over with," the Krogan said, stepping past the two crew members and onto the ship.

Otarth stared at Gnore's back as the large reptile went, before sighing, "I'm sorry Lieutenant Vydros,"

The four of us slowly follow the Krogan aboard as the airlock closes and the ship takes off into the blackness of space. Immediately, Otarth takes us to the ship's Conference Room to brief us on the mission. With a few swipes on his Omni-Tool, a hologram of a structure appears at the center of the table.

"About two weeks ago, a Volus emissary, was on a diplomatic mission in the Terminus Systems. He did not arrive to his destination. We have received a distress signal from said emissary, pinpointing his location to an Alliance controlled space station. Unfortunately, the Alliance has not been able to contact the garrison. Your mission is to infiltrate the space station and rescue the Volus emissary. Any questions?"

"I assume you will not tell us why the emissary was out in the Terminus Systems?" I ask, my hands on the table, eyes looking straight at the hologram of the station.

"I would request that you ask questions relevant to the mission at hand, yes,"

"Are you sure that the transmission wasn't fake?"

"Yes, we could deduce that the transmission was indeed valid,"

"Why hasn't the Alliance been able to respond to this?"

"The Alliance is currently dealing with the many disappearances of their colonies. They do not have the resources to deal with this situation,"

"Do we know who is behind this?"

"Not currently, no, that is exactly what you two hope to find out,"

I continued to ask questions about the mission but every further answer was either 'that is up to you' or 'that is classified information'. When people say that kind of shit, it usually means we are way in over our heads. I could tell by Gnore's tense body language that he was getting impatient with the conversation. With the little fuse I had left before the Krogan exploded, I manage to ask enough questions before the bomb went off.

"Very well. If either of you have any further questions, I will remain here on the Operations Deck," Otarth informed before stepping out from the conference room.

I look to the Krogan, the muscles on his face sticking to a scowl, "So…we are going to be working together,"

"Working together? I don't think so. You look like the type that needs to be carried,"

My face cringed at his words as they dripped with conceit, "I don't care what I look like to you, all that matters is what I do,"

"Uh-huh. You'll do little,"

"You can go ahead and keep thinking that,"

"Don't worry, I will,"

I understood at that moment that this Krogan and I were not going to get along anytime soon. He was an example of one of the two types of people I hate in the galaxy, the first being cowards, and the second being overzealous pricks, Gnore being the latter. I could sense that he gets through life by offending others, not because it may be the truth, but rather, because he wants to get into a fight. He gave off an aura, a sickening red air that fuels the rage inside you. When your limit has reached a boiling point, you lash out and I imagine not too many people win with that cleaver resting on his back. Before the situation could get out of hand, I made sure to leave the room. I never spoke further with my new partner until we arrived at the Alliance space station.

I was used to trips like these, ones where it was complete silence and an absolute bore. I do not imagine anything entertaining could occur when you have an overbearing Krogan and an unsociable Salarian. The only person I could manage to find decent conversation with was the Asari pilot, Ranrika Lero. While it did take me a few tries to catch her attention, I was not about to give up on striking-up a conversation. There was obvious passion in her eyes, a love for her job and doing it well. Her happiness seemed almost like a sickness to me, like it was some new disease easily transmitted through sight; like it was something I lost long ago and finally had the opportunity to obtain.

"So how long have you been piloting?" I asked her, leaning on the right-side wall of the door way.

"About twenty-six years now,"

"Have you always been flying for the Citadel?"

"I served with the Asari military before transferring over,"

"You didn't like it in the military?"

She paused for a moment, pulling herself away from the dashboard before going back into the fray, "It wasn't that I didn't like it. When I joined up, I just wanted to fly ships, you know? It was just a passion of mine,"

"Just wanted to fly ships, huh? Couldn't have just went freelance, mercantile, civilian piloting?"

"I wanted to go into civilian piloting but…my parents thought it best that I joined up with the military. I could do what I love while saving lives. I guess they just wanted me to do something more with my life,"

"So your parents forced you into the military?"

"Kind of…yeah…I mean, I didn't dislike it as much as others did,"

This Asari reminded me of my beginnings on Invictus when my parents too forced me to take up arms with the military. I remember feeling miserable, like I rather take my own life than join up with the legion. The thing that bothered me the most about her telling of her story is that she did not seem to regret any part of her time in the military. While she did not particularly enjoy it, she managed to find happiness through her passions. With each passing moment, I thought about it and it made me more and more curious.

"What didn't you like about it,"

"I guess the stress when under fire. Occasionally, I would get into hot situations where my team depended on my ability. People would start to yell and panic. I didn't really like it when it came to that,"

My eyes glanced to her hip and noticed a pistol holstered in a faux leather casing, "Any of those situations require killing?"

"I blew up a few ships in my day, can't say that I'm too proud of it but it was mostly either me or him type of situations,"

I shook my head, "Not with the ship but with that sidearm you carry at your hip,"

The Asari reached for the holster, "No, I never have gotten into a situation that required me to use it,"

"Never?"

"I'm that good of a pilot,"

"What if the situation does arise?"

"I suppose it will be another instance, either me or him,"

"I don't think you could do it,"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I don't think you could do it,"

"And why is that?"

"You see, you may have killed people while operating your gunship; however, you don't have to look at their face before you kill them. So what are you really hurting, the ship or the pilot? With a ship, you are killing another ship. With a gun…" I pull the sniper rifle off my back, the sound of the mechanisms clicking sends chills down my spine, "With a gun you actually have to see your enemy in front of you and watch as the projectile kills the man or woman you shoot,"

"I don't seem to understand the difference, someone is dying either way,"

"The difference is responsibility. Each shot I make, another person I take; each person I take, a piece of my soul dies,"

"So you don't think that I have taken responsibility for my actions?"

"I think that you have taken responsibility for the ships that you destroyed not the lives of the people who were piloting them,"

"And why are you having this conversation with me?"

To be honest, I did not know why I was having this conversation with someone I just met. Usually I would contemplate these kinds of questions with myself but, then again, I never had anybody who would listen to my words. I was always alone, living my days out until death would finally claim me, whether that be of natural causes or a shot to the head; however, an Asari can live to be a thousand years of age, everything they have done in life must be carried with them. I am fortunate because I only must carry that baggage so far before I die a short life. How could someone who lives a thousand years join the military and kill others without feeling any form of remorse?

"How old are you," I ask, looking again at her rapid fingers going across the dashboard.

"Three hundred and forty-six, why?"

"For the longest time I have been curious about the Asari lifespan. I was just wondering if, for as long as you live, could you wake up every day without regretting your actions?"

"I believe so. By taking life, I am saving the lives of others,"

"And why do you save the lives of others?"

"Because it was my responsibility. My job is to make sure people get from place-to-place without compromising the team,"

"And that make you feel whole?"

"I suppose,"

"I see,"

"You are very wise you know that? I have never thought of something like that,"

"When all one knows is conflict, one tends to look at the universe in different ways,"

With that answer, I left the cockpit not speaking to her for the rest of the trip. I lazed about the Crew Quarters, resting on a bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if I too could still find happiness from saving the lives of others rather than taking it for myself. I had tried it before, in fact, that was how I started justifying my killing of others; however, when my team died, I lost that justification and did it for my own sake and I still do not know why. Was Galeria right when she wanted me to join the Spectres, to learn to be selfless and comprehensive? To learn how to deal with my actions again and stop blaming and regretting? The more I thought about it, the more disgusted I became and eventually I caved to ignoring my wavering thoughts. No. I am still a heartless bastard.


	3. Chapter III - The Volus Emissary

Story Line Writer: B. H.

Narrative Perspective Writer: H. B.

I do not own the Mass Effect universe and all credit for its associated contents go to Bioware. This fan-fiction is for enjoyment not for economic gain. I would dearly appreciate any feedback, reviews, or ratings. These chapters are subject to editing so nothing is set in stone until the last chapter has been uploaded.

Chapter III: The Volus Emissary

The ship leaped into the final system where the Alliance outpost was stationed. A few pieces of metallic rubble floated by, confirming the occurrence of naval combat.

"We are nearing the space station," the Asari informed over the com, suggesting our presence on the bridge.

I was the last to arrive, which came as no surprise as the Krogan, Gnore, had appeared to be dying this past week of battle starvation. Otarth had made previous attempts of asking for a strategy from the Krogan but all he manage to receive was 'we cleave them'.

"Lieutenant Vydros, as of this moment, Ranrika is taking us in with the stealth drives. We will remain undetected as we make our approach,"

"Very well," I say, pulling the diagram up on my Omni-Tool, I look to Gnore who is staring at me with a dead expression, "I say we dock at this maintenance shaft here and make our way across, access the maintenance door, and clear each room from there to find the Volus emissary.

"Uh-huh, let's just get going already,"

"Very well,"

The airlock hisses open as Gnore and I click on our mag boots to assure our stability on the maintenance walkway. It takes quite a bit before reach the maintenance door; however, the view was extraordinary. When one is surrounded by space, you truly get to see art, something that cannot be crafted by any artist. The black, emptiness of space is filled with burning stars of all sizes, occasionally complimented with bouts of stellar dust. If one is not carefully, he or she could find themselves drifting off into space without realizing it. Once we reached the door, Gnore and I both equip our specialized weapons, a sniper rifle in my hands, and a shotgun in Gnore's.

"Lieutenant Vydros, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear Ix,"

"Good, I have set up cameras on your suits so I can see your progress,"

"Understood, I'm going to have to turn off the coms during insertion,"

"Very well, keep me posted,"

"Copy,"

Gnore and I enter the airlock as soon as the door opens and feel the pressure return to us. We regain our composure before entering the next chamber. Before we can fully open the door, the smell of burnt flesh crosses our nostrils.

"What the Hell is that?" Gnore exclaims, a cringe forming on his face.

"Something dead,"

Once we push the door all the way out, we further our way into the room. A sense of dread comes over me as I see a hallway decorated in blood, bodies complimenting each side of the passage.

"Spirits," I mutter, trying to comprehend the actions that occurred.

"Uh-huh, someone had quite the party in here,"

Before we could venture further into the butchery, a hiss of doors cries about the hallway. We quickly run into cover, peeking over barriers to see what trouble approaches. Two Batarians, each dragging a Human body, move into the room and begin to toss the corpses into a pile.

"Too bad they didn't give up," one Batarian says, tossing his baggage into the pile.

"Yeah, well, they were weak. Would've died the first moment they got put to work,"

I look to Gnore and give him a nod as he storms out of cover. A deep, ferocious war cry catches the Batarians by surprise. Before the two grab their weapons, Gnore sweeps his arm across the chest of the first Batarian, knocking him into the metallic wall. I level my sniper rifle across the barrier and aim at the second. With a clank, Gnore pulls his cleaver off his back and raises it to hit the first Batarian. As the second Batarian finally begins to fire, a high-powered shot hits the four-eyed creature in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Before the first Batarian could pick himself off the ground, Gnore slams his cleaver into the now mangled alien. The second Batarian attempts to flee but is quickly subdued by the massive Krogan's bloodlust. Blood from both butcher human and carved Batarian mix together in what the supremacist four-eyed creatures would call a biological disgrace. Once the conflict had subsided, I removed myself from cover and regrouped with Gnore.

"Ix, we are standing before what looks like to be a human mortuary. Batarians, possibly slavers, appear to be aboard the station.

"Slavers? Hmm. Any sign of the Volus emissary?"

"Nothing yet, we'll keep pushing through,"

"Right you are, keep me posted,"

"Copy,"

I look to Gnore for a moment, trying to forget the nightmare that just wreaked havoc through this hall, "Let's move,"

"Did you even do anything?"

"I kept a Batarian from plugging you full of holes,"

"Really? Looked like you were sitting on the sidelines,"

"If you want to get shot next time, be my guest, I won't save you,"

"Uh-huh,"

Trying to ignore the conceited reptile, I begin to make my way through the next door. We are led to a hallway that displays inconsistent stains of blood on the walls. As we get to a corner, we can see three more Batarians sitting about what appears to be the mess hall. One of the Batarians rest his head on the table, a bottle of alcohol suggesting the four-eyed alien's indisposed nature. Two more appear to be eating at a table at the far side of the room, a mess of tables strung about the center of the room. I motion for Gnore to target the drunk Batarian as I level my sniper rifle at one of the two in the back of the room. With thud of the Krogan's heavy foot, the two Batarians stand up from the table. As one tries to flip a table, I level my scope on his partner. With a spat of the barrel, pieces of brain splatters against the once shiny metallic wall. Gnore grabs the drunk Batarian as he wakes up from his self-induced state. As the Batarian behind cover goes to fire at Gnore, the bullets plant right into his drunk associate. Before the Batarian could jump cover, Gnore rammed the table into the wall pinning him. With another thud of my rifle, another bullet plants him the neck of the Batarian, going limp at the loss of life. Gnore looks at his torn meat shield and tosses it aside to join its deceased brethren. I pull myself around from the corner and join up with my ferocious comrade.

"Got two that time," I say, lowering my sniper rifle.

"Better,"

Before we could continue our conversation, the forward door hisses open to reveal two more slavers. As they begin to fire, Gnore flips a table to provide us cover. I switch to my assault rifle while Gnore switches to his shotgun. As the rain of fire continues, Gnore pushes the table closer to the door. Before the two could step back, Gnore and I level ourselves over the table and spray bullets into the two Batarians. One flies back and hits the wall from the force of the shotgun and the other falls back from the line of bullets that struck his chest. Gnore pushes the table out of the way and we both step through the door.

"Where to now?" Gnore questions, looking down both sides of the hallway, a door on either side.

I look back to the cafeteria, "Go grab one of those tables,"

"What for?"

"Trust me on this one,"

We walk down the left hallway, Gnore with a table in hand. I bang heavily on the door and Gnore places the metallic furniture in front of it. As the door opens and the slavers fail to see the ploy, Gnore kicks the table into the room, smashing both Batarians into the wall.

"Heh, heh, heh, that was funny," Gnore bellows, walking into the room.

The room contained cells, one of which held a mother and her young boy. A man kneeled, bloody, and beaten at the center of the room. I walked over to the bloodied man and turned his head up into the light. Bruises covered his face, blood trickled down his forehead, and his left eye appeared barely able to open. On the man's neck donned a metallic collar that flashed a red bulb every so often. I turned away from the victims and stepped over to the other side of the room.

"Ix, slavers confirmed. We just ran into a cell block of sorts and found three living victims,"

"I saw them, Lieutenant, do what you think is best,"

"Copy,"

"What should we do with them?" Gnore questioned, looking to me.

"I don't think they can leave the station with those collars so the best thing to do would be to get help once we secure the area,"

I saw Gnore's eyes wander to a cylindrical object sitting about the floor. He picked the object up and pressed the button on the side. An electrical flow of blue energy flowed from the baton.

"Do you think I could get those collars off with this?" Gnore questioned, motioning to the baton.

"I don't think that would be wise, neither of us know anything about slave collars. Best option is to secure the station and get some professionals out here to disarm them,"

"It couldn't hurt to try,"

"Don't do it,"

Gnore's eyes narrowed as if he smelled something putrid in the air.

"Look, you are playing with lives of innocents, our mission was not about experimenting with slave collars, it was about getting the Volus emissary and getting out,"

"Uh-huh," the Krogan mutter as he slams the baton into the shock collar.

Blood splattered everywhere as the explosion blew chunks of human flesh and bone across the room. I was frozen in disbelief at what I had just seen and I have seen quite a bit of shit. The mother and her child screamed in agony as they so desperately tried to scrape the chunks and blood off their skin. Before I could reprimand Gnore, I heard the boy mention something of a father.

"What the fuck!? Why did you do that!?" I exclaim, trying to wipe the blood from my armor.

"Huh, guess it didn't work. Saw someone use it on a door once. Guess it doesn't work on slave collars. Oh, well, let's move on,"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"The more you know,"

I couldn't believe what the Hell I was hearing; saw. My suspicions about this Krogan were correct but I did not expect them to be this severe. Not only did we lose points for that but we also left a family with the last image of their patriarch being blown up by a ferocious reptilian monster. Do not get me wrong, I have done some immoral things in my life but this Krogan made me look like a hero. I had no idea what I should have done. Try to kill the monster twice my strength? Act as if nothing happened? Wait to inform the instructor about his actions? Before I could think of more possibilities, the room shook briefly as if a quake erupted from the base of the station.

"What was that?" Gnore asked, turning his head in the direction of the stutter.

"I don't know but that probably means we should pick up the pace," I respond, walking to the door.

As Gnore steps out into the hallway, I look back at the shivering widow with her child. I approach the two who immediately hug the opposite side of the cage.

"I'm sorry, I'll find you both some help," was the only thing I could say at the time.

They shielded their faces away from me in fear, unable to look at me, probably associating me with that monster. I think this but I did sit idly by and let it happen. Who is worse, the one that commits the action or watches as it is done? I look at the child who latched himself into the arms of his mother, holding onto dear life. For just a moment, his brown eyes met mine. I felt a shiver rush down my spine. Genuine fear infected my soul with just a single glance. From that instance, I saw a form of myself projected on this child.

"You comin' Turian?" the Krogan questioned.

"Yeah," I say, turning my head only briefly before looking back to the mother and child.

The boy buried his face in the embrace of his mother. With a sigh, I step away from the cage and out into the hallway. Room after room, we cleared until we came upon Central Administration. With a ping and hiss of the door's opening, we hold our weapons at the Batarians inside. Two held their weapons at us while the one in the center held a Volus at gunpoint.

"Glad you could join us," the leading Batarian said, a grueling smile stretching upon his face.

"Hand over the emissary," I demand, my sniper rifle steadied on his head.

"You can have him in just a moment, I'm almost done with him,"

The other two Batarians steady their aim at us as their leader slowly makes his way to a door.

"He's all yours," the leader says, touching the door terminal and throwing the Volus to the floor.

In that moment, I crack a shot from my sniper rifle but echoes of ricochet bring dissatisfaction to my countenance. Gnore, being the wall that he is, charges into the fray, his goal for the emissary. The Batarians fire upon us with a rain of fire. I turn the aim of my rifle to one and plug a shot into his head before taking a shot to my side. Gnore charges up to the other Batarian, throws him over his shoulder, and plugs a buckshot into his chest. As we rush up to the door, the leading Batarian had escaped through the airlock and onto a shuttle. Before we could get to the Volus emissary, the station shook again.

"Warning, station overload in two minutes. All personnel are advised to proceed to the nearest form of escape," an automated voice hails over the intercom.

"We got to go," Gnore says, dragging the Volus along with him.

We immediately rush for the maintenance shaft across the station. Sparks fly as systems begin to implode. Constant shakes of the station throw our balance off. Just as we are about to hit the cafeteria, a broken woman stands with a pistol at hand. It was the mother from before, free and collar disabled. The boy stands crying a little way down the hallway.

"How'd she get out?" Gnore questions, dragging the Volus behind him.

Before I could answer, a shot cracks off and hits me in the shoulder. The woman starts to squeeze the trigger again but is stopped with pistol shot to her stomach. She falls to the ground, bleeding, completely deprived of life. As the final lock of hair hits the floor, I see the boy struck in shock. All emotion drained from his face, streams of tears roll from his eyes. Perhaps if I had more time to think, I could have done something different but my trained instincts took me over. As we get to the crossroads, I stop before the child.

"What are you doing?" Gnore questions, stopping in front of the cafeteria.

"I'm getting him out of here," I respond, throwing the limp child over my good shoulder, I wince in pain at the added weight on my side.

"He's not important, leave him,"

"Warning, station overload in one minute. All personnel are advised to proceed to the nearest form of escape," the automated voice hails again.

Without another word, Gnore darts through the cafeteria with the Volus emissary in toe. I try to rush my way through the path that the Krogan left for me. As the time continues to roll down, I push through the pain to get to the airlock. I force the child into a vacuum suit and wait as the airlock opens into the deadness of space.

"You have twenty seconds Lieutenant," Otarth informs over the comm.

I push my weight off the airlock door, gliding through the maintenance shaft and onto the ship. As the airlock doors hiss close, the station rumbles one last time and implodes in a ball of fire. Gnore turns his head in my direction and mine in his. I could tell, regardless of the mask he held on his face, that he held some disdain for the extra baggage I brought along. The ship immediately breaks docking and bolts away from the spreading fire. As the inner doors open, Gnore and I remove our masks.

"You should have left him behind," Gnore spat, glaring at the child.

I say nothing to the Krogan as I help the boy with the vacuum suit. Otarth greets us at the entrance with a datapad in hand. He looks to the Volus and nods.

"We are glad you are safe, Emissary Hun," Otarth says, motioning the Volus towards the internal areas of the ship.

"Not even a thank you?" I mutter under my breath.

"Uh-huh," Gnore grunts before walking off to another section of the ship.

A frown settles upon my countenance as I watch him go. As I look down at the child who stands at a fair distance from me, I cannot help but feel sorrow for him. He reminds me a little of myself when I was his age. I never had parents; true parents, and now both were taken from him just an hour ago. When I think about my actions, I start to question whether Gnore was right or wrong. Should I have left the kid on that station to die? Would it have been easier for both of us had the boy just got swallowed in a hellfire? What would the kid do now? He has no parents to care for him so he will probably end up a slum or an orphan. Did I just make a child's life worse by my selfish desire to save him or did I give him a second chance at life that, left to another person, would see it not come to fruition? He probably holds a loathing for Gnore and I that his naïve mind cannot yet comprehend. I hold no blame on him. I will take responsibility for my actions. My eyes watched as your father was brutally murdered. My finger pulled the trigger of the weapon that killed your mother. If I should meet the boy years later and his hatred turned grudge, I will be prepared for whichever side the spirits choose to favor. The boy looks up at me, eyes red from all the tears that flooded his face.

"Come on, let's go get you checked up at the Med Bay," I say, gently pushing the child forward.


	4. Chapter IV - Induction

Story Line Writer: B. H.

Narrative Perspective Writer: H. B.

I do not own the Mass Effect universe and all credit for its associated contents go to Bioware. This fan-fiction is for enjoyment not for economic gain. I would dearly appreciate any feedback, reviews, or ratings. These chapters are subject to editing so nothing is set in stone until the last chapter has been uploaded.

Chapter IV: Induction

I led the boy to the Med Bay to clean up both his and my wounds. With a lift, I placed him on a table. As I registered his information into the system, several welts and wounds were present both above and beneath his skin. All I could think about was the pain this kid suffered at the hands of the Batarians; how close he could have been to death had we not shown up. I run over him with medi-gel, treating the wounds he had suffered. Afterwards, I do the same for the wounds I suffered to my shoulder and side.

"So, what's your name?" I question, looking to the child, his eyes avoiding me.

"I understand that you don't want to speak to someone like me. I also understand if you hold hatred for me,"

The boy's silence hints at my suggestion.

"I bet you wish that you could kill me. Perhaps when you are older you can. I will hold no blame to you,"

The room fell silent for a moment.

"Why didn't you let me die?" the boy finally spoke.

I looked at him with surprise which then morphed into a solemn countenance.

"Perhaps, when you are older you will understand better but…you reminded me of myself when I was your age,"

The boy stared at me in utter confusion.

"See, I knew you wouldn't understand…let's just say that I know what it means to not have any parents at your age…that you have to look out for yourself in the least justifiable way,"

The boy maintained his muddled countenance.

"You'll understand when you are older, it's called empathy," I look away from him for a moment then turn my head again. "Let's go find you a place to sleep,"

The ship spent a few more days before we entered the Serpent Nebula. From a distance, one could mistake the Citadel for a peaceful place but those who stepped foot on the installation know that it is bustling with people, all different races, genders, and nationalities. The ship lurches as it makes its way to the docking bay. With a hiss of the airlock doors, the crew steps off and maintenance crews step on. I kept the boy close to my side to try and deter the overwhelming fear Gnore inspired. The Volus was received by his compatriots and left with only a word to Otarth.

"Lieutenant, I will take care of the child," Otarth said, putting his hand out in front of the boy.

"Very well," I say, lightly pushing on the boy's back.

With a hesitative motion, the child grips the Salarian's hand.

"You two should make your way to the Council's chamber. A formal ceremony will take place, inducting you both into the Spectres," Otarth said, leading the boy off to the side.

I look to Gnore who then scowls at me, which indicated a desire for silence from me. Without a word, the two of us made our way to the Council's chambers. The place was a glistening white, with dark fabrics, metals, and green plants to compliment it. It was much more luxurious than the Spectre Headquarters, probably the most elegant section on the Citadel. A couple people stare at Gnore and I as we make our way up the steps and onto the platform facing the Council.

"Joran Vydros and Urdnot Gnore I presume?" the Salarian councilor questioned, analytically staring at the two of us.

"You are correct," I reply, a sigh aired soon after.

"Urdnot Gnore, you will be the first Krogan Spectre, I hope this brings pride to the Krogan," the Asari councilor complimented.

"It's about damn time," Gnore spat, folding his arms, a menacing frown stuck on his face.

"I would suggest your refrain from any further expletives," the Salarian warned, a look of sincerity evident.

"Joran Vydros," the Turian councilor mutters, his hand pressed against his brow, "The son of Amuvius Vydros,"

"Is there a problem?" I question, my eyes narrowed.

"You both make a mockery of the Spectres. We got the Butcher of Tuchanka, famed for his brutality, and the Fallen, a lowly mercenary and traitor, to become Spectres," the Turian spat, his countenance bearing bitterness.

"I served the military faithfully did I not? My mandatory service was finished and I formally resigned. I fail to see how I'm a traitor," I reply with the same bitterness.

"You joined an organization that opposes the Hierarchy, that is enough to call someone a traitor,"

"Let's not label others, shall we councilor? I joined the Suns because I was free to do so. The Hierarchy has also had dealings with us before, I would know because I had to do a couple of jobs for you all. There are no traitors when that's all there is," I explain, glaring at the old Turian above me.

"Why you-," the Turian began, quickly silenced by a wave of the Asari's hand.

"Enough!" the Asari exclaimed.

The room fell silent for a moment before the situation began to calm.

"Like it or not councilor, they are to be Spectres," the Asari finally spoke.

"Hmph," the Turian huffed.

The councilors look at the two of us and place their hands on their terminals.

"Joran Vydros. Urdnot Gnore. It is the decision of the Council that you both be granted all the rights and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch of the Citadel through the Spectre Cooperative Tier program," the Asari councilor announced.

"Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle; those whose actions lift them above the rank and file," the Salarian councilor followed.

"Spectres are an ideal, a symbol, the embodiment of courage, determination, and self-reliance. They are the right hand of the Council, instruments of our will," the Asari continued.

"Spectres bear a great burden. Both our first and last line of defense, the safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold," the Turian councilor muttered, a malicious tone underlining each word.

Gnore and I both nod before walking off the platform. The two of us then make our way down the stairs and to the elevator. An air of discomfort fell upon the two of us as the capsule lurched down.

"So, you were a Sun, huh?" the Krogan asked, head still facing forward.

"Yeah," I answer, folding my arms.

"Blood Pack is better,"

"You joined up with the Blood Pack?"

"Only briefly, left when Wrex came back to Tuchanka,"

"Why was that?"

"I liked the mercenary life, never thought about coming home. Wrex changed my view, thought that, if anyone can put the Krogan on top again, it was him,"

"I see,"

An awkward silence winded by as the elevator continued to shoot down.

"Why did you leave the Suns?"

I look solemnly at the ground as flashes of blood and gunfire filled my memories.

"I led a squad, information was fixed, team got killed,"

"Hmph, doesn't seem like a good reason to leave,"

"There were a lot of good people in my squad. I would liken them to friends. When they died, I felt that I had no reason to continue with the Suns. Never stopped mercenary work though, went independent,"

"Uh-huh," the Krogan nodded, turning his head to me, mine turning back to his, "I need a drink, you up for it?"

"I could go for a drink," I reply.

"Good, cause you're paying,"

The elevator finally slowed to a stop and the two of us stepped off. About an hour later, Gnore and I made our way to Eayra's Arch, a bar down in the Wards. We sat at the counter and knocked a few drinks back.

"So how did you get nicknamed 'the Butcher'?" I questioned, taking a swig of Turian Brandy.

"Wrex sent me and a few other Krogan to flank a few Weyrloc pyjaks during a raid on one of their bases. Turns out there were more than initially expected and they injured many in my squad. When you have no ammo," the Krogan began, motioning to the large cleaver on his back.

"So, you literally-," I started to speak.

"Butchered them all to the last Krogan," he finished, gulping down a glass of Ryncol, "My team liked the name and it kind of just stuck,"

"Yeah…I got to experience that first hand when you slaughtered that man,"

Gnore scowls at me with an unsettling ferocity rising in his face, "Watch it, Turian, I'm starting to respect you, don't piss me off," he takes another swig of his drink, "Why do you care? It's not like you knew the poor bastard,"

"That's not the point. It was a stupid idea to use that baton on him, yet you did it anyways,"

"Better than sitting around and doing nothing like you were," the Krogan spat, sneering with irritation, "The station was going down anyways, they would have died regardless. Made it quick for him,"

"Yeah, but also traumatized the kid,"

"Who cares about a scrawny brat like him? He was worthless, crying over nothing. Shoulda let him die with his parents,"

"I thought I was pretty heartless but that is right cold,"

"Look, Turian, I'm not going to get into a debate over what's right and what's wrong with you. As a part of the Suns you probably did some pretty nasty shit too. Don't feed me this high and mighty bullshit,"

He was right. I had done some pretty horrible things with the Blue Suns, assassination, extortion, even killing defenseless people. Normally, I would not have given a damn about what he did back there but, for some reason, I have this feeling of disgust burrowing in the pit of my stomach. I have never felt it before and I still cannot place it.

"Besides, we're Spectres right? Didn't they say that we do what we think is best? I decided to overload that collar, failed, and you decided to save a snot-nosed brat. Council won't do anything. We can do whatever we want if we don't disobey what those pyjaks specifically want us to do," Gnore spoke, taking another swig of his Ryncol.

"Is that really what Spectres do? Do what _they_ think is best?"

"Yeah, kinda their motto. Have you been livin' under a rock or something?"

An unsettling dissatisfaction grew inside me. Spectres can do anything they wish even for selfish reasons? They have no boundaries? So, if they decide to murder a hundred civilians for one bad guy, they would be allowed to? No repercussions? I started to wonder what exactly I had gotten into. There are no regulations on what I can do…that is too much power for any individual to have. To think that my life or Gnore's life or even that kid's life would be in the hands of an individual who thinks that his or her way is the best. We would be considered expendable by the Spectre and nobody would fight it should injustice be done unto us. Did I just trade a life of coercion to a life of freedom then back to another fucking cage? No…I'm the one with the key this time. I have the power to determine who gets made prisoner and who walks.

"So how did you get the name 'the Fallen'?" Gnore finally spoke, his face completely empty of his previous frustration.

My concentration broke as he spoke. "It was actually a name I earned in the Turian military," I began, swallowing the last bit of my drink, "I was a Lieutenant and my brothers-in-arms believed me to be a guardian of sorts. I was one of the few that did not believe the soldiers serving with us were expendable. Some stuff happened…I kind of lost it…became much colder towards my unit…made some bad decisions…'the Fallen',"

"Hmph, no details?"

"None that I wish to disclose at this point in time,"

"You speak like you're reading if off somewhere. Quad, you need to get out more,"

"I do 'get out',"

"Oh yeah? Doesn't sound like it. You look like the kind of guy that stays indoors, drinks, while cleaning off his guns for fifth time, making excuses like 'it's a good way to pass the time' or 'I want to be sure I'm never caught out with a bad gun' instead of doing something actually fun,"

I laugh lightly and level my eyes up at his, "I suppose that much is true. Are you not the same?"

"Hmph, my time involves more killing. If a gun goes bad, I use my head. No need for that other shit," Gnore laughs a little before gulping down the last bit of Ryncol in his cup.

A notification flashes on my Omni-Tool as I start to sip at the glass.

"What's up?" the Krogan asked, looking to my Omni-Tool

"Looks like the Spectres are giving me that house as a place of residence,"

"You don't sound too happy about it,"

"I'm a bit happy but it's just going to take some time to get used to,"

"Is it that shitty?"

"No, it's the opposite. A little too elegant,"

Gnore orders another drink from the bartender and begins downing another cup, "I could fix that for ya. Put a couple of holes in the wall maybe tear up the floor and furniture a bit too,"

"That's alright, I don't need a lifetime repair bill,"

"Hehe," the Krogan huffs, before getting up to leave, "Well, I've had enough for now, need to go find a place down in the wards before I crash,"

"Spectres didn't give you a place?" I ask, downing the last bit of my drink.

"I'm a Krogan, bastards don't give a damn if I sleep on the street, if it's not a busy one. Would give me a ticket for obstructing traffic,"

"Well, we're going to have to work together for a while and I have three other bedrooms in the house-,"

"No, I'm not accepting a Turian's help,"

"Why's that?"

"If you had a neutering bomb dropped on your people, you probably would know the answer to that question,"

I glare at Gnore with a contorted countenance, "Okay…that was rather upfront…you must be drunk. So, let me get this straight. The reason why you've been acting cold to everything; this hatred for me comes from the Genophage?"

"Uh-huh, all Turians and Salarians are the same, distrustful, arrogant, weaklings,"

"Not every Turian agrees with the Genophage and neither does every Salarian,"

"Uh-huh,"

I roll my eyes at the arrogant reptile and transfer the credits over to the bartender.

"My offer still stands you can either follow me to the sky car or you can find some dirty street to sleep on,"

Gnore stands there for a moment and cringes as he watches me start for the door, "Turian,"

I turn around to face him

"Buy me another bottle before we go,"

"Are you fucking kidding me? I paid for you drinks and I'm offering you a place to stay after you generalized me. Buy your own damn bottle!" I exclaim, turning around and out the door.

Gnore pauses for a moment and looks to the bartender, "Give me the bottle,"

"That will cost you three hundred credits," he speaks to the Krogan.

"I wasn't asking for the cost," Gnore replies, cracking his neck.

With a deep gulp the bartender hands him the bottle and the Krogan snatches it from him.

"The Spectres thank you for your cooperation," Gnore says before following Joran out.

Back at the house, Joran forces the door open and Gnore collapses on the floor.

"You drank too much you ass," I say, a face of irritation present.

"Blegah!" Gnore exclaims in a drunken language.

"Are you going to get off the floor and head to your bedroom or you-," I began as

Gnore curls up in front of the door and yawns out of exhaustion.

"Nope, you are just going to sleep on the floor. That's fine, why the Hell not? Won't even try to move him, probably end giving up or getting punched in the face,"

I step into my bedroom my eyes barely able to stay open. As I make myself past the bed, I see a flashing light appear on my terminal. I sit myself down on the sturdy chair and open the notifications. Two messages await my acknowledgement both from my sister. The first is a congratulatory missive and the other asking about my wellbeing. At one point Galeria made mention that she would like to video chat the next time she calls. I pretend to ignore that last part, my stubbornness not faltering even now. One thing that kept bothering me, was that Batarian on the Alliance space station. I have never seen him before but he appeared to be well accomplished. For the next couple of hours, I spent my time researching into this Batarian. 'Ghozis Dap'fahan', 'Batarian extremist', 'known for aggressive acts towards humans, more specifically, and council species', 'wants more representation for Batarians on the Council', 'extremely dangerous', 'if encountered contact authorities'. This fiend has had dealings with several mercenary groups, criminal organizations, dabbled in slave trafficking, coercion, and arson. After my research, my eyes could not take anymore. With that, I shut the terminal off in exhaustion, prepare myself for the evening, and close my eyes to a black abyss.

The next morning, I indulged my usual 4:00am routine: work out, get suited, gun maintenance, and a quick bite. Gnore was still rolled up on the floor, making grunts and uncanny laughs in his sleep. As I look around the kitchen, an unfamiliar datapad sits itself on the island. I step over the drunken Krogan, trying desperately not to unleash Gnore's storm of anger. When I pick up the datapad, its display features 'Spectre Joran Vydros' and 'Spectre Urdnot Gnore' on the front, followed by 'Mission Parameters'. As I unlock the datapad, a wave of files come pouring onto the display. It contained several pictures and writings on a Turian R&D project. Nothing too specific was given, which was probably a security measure for the government, but two things stood out to me. 'Facility was compromised after an assault by an undeclared faction' and 'must prevent the theft of crucial documents'. By the time we get out there, the files will be gone. The only thing we can do is try to secure the facility and uncover any leads on the unknown assaulters.

I look to the slothful reptile on the floor and give him a light kick to the chest, "Wake up,"

"Huh? What!?" Gnore exclaims, pushing himself off the floor.

"We got a job to do,"

"Ugh, this Spectre shit is already pissing me off,"

"That's your hangover talking, let's go,"

"Where're we going?"

I scroll up on the datapad, "Docking Bay…huh?"

"What?"

"Docking Bay Z-49, didn't know there was a 'Z',"

"It's just a letter who cares,"

With that, Gnore and I left for Docking Bay Z-49 to begin our first mission as Spectres.


End file.
